


Too Loud, Too Loud

by Acaeria



Series: Cousins AU [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, Cousins AU, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I'm very sorry, Near Death Experiences, Nightmares, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 02:30:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8083165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acaeria/pseuds/Acaeria
Summary: He glanced over at Ford’s face, the grimace he wore, the clamminess of his skin, the fluttering of his eyelids, and a coldness overtook him. He shivered, and huddled closer to him, though Ford was arguably colder than he was. This old house, which sometimes felt rather small, now felt too big, and he too small for it; but it was better than the whole world, which felt daunting to think about. It was almost as if he were trapped in a bubble, down here on the kitchen floor with Ford, and everything else was too much to think about."Please don't leave me."





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part of my Cousins AU, and takes several years before the main fic starts; it happens when Dipper's about eight or nine. If you want the context for this AU, you can read Mystery Cousins first, but basically all you need to know is that Ford never went through the portal, that he's raising Dipper, and that Fiddleford stuck around longer to help raise Dipper but left due to Bill, who never left in this AU. I hope that isn't too confusing!
> 
> To anyone who is reading Mystery Cousins: I'm sorry the next update is taking so long! It's giving me trouble and I just... ugh. It's about a third of the way done, and I'll give a proper explanation in the notes for that chapter. In the meantime, please enjoy this one-shot! (And please forgive me...)

Dipper found himself sitting upright in bed, eyes wide open and staring blindly into the dark, fingers gripping desperately on the edges of his sheets. An unuttered scream burned at the back of his throat in much the same way that tears burned the back of his eyes. Slowly, he untangled his fingers from the sheet and reached one arm up, brushing away the tears and the sweat around his eyes. The ache in his chest began to fade.

He took one breath, then another, counting his breaths until he was calm again. In that time, his eyes adjusted to the darkness of his room, and he could see that everything was as it had been, nothing changed or out of place. He was alone. Suddenly hit by a dizzying wave of relief, he doubled over, his head brushing his knees, his hair hanging forward and in his face.

He was safe. He was safe. It was only a dream.

After a while he lay back down, and attempted to go back to sleep. But sleep eluded him, just escaping his grasp, and all the while a prickling unease crept up his spine. Something didn’t feel quite right; a sense of unease left over from his dream, refusing to dissipate in the aftermath. Eventually, the feeling grew so much that he couldn’t stay there, as if he did, he would fall prey to some sort of predator lurking in the dark. He slid out of bed and crept out of the door, tiptoeing down the hall.

He didn’t know what time it was, but from the suffocating darkness, he could tell it was late; he had no idea if Ford was still up or, if he was, if he was in control. Either way, it was better to be quiet. He’d go down to the kitchen, and make himself a mug of hot milk or something before returning to bed.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and made his way down the hall. As he approached the kitchen, he could tell that something wasn’t quite right. The sense of unease had doubled- no, tripled-  _ expanded _ , somehow, in some immeasurable amount- and he paused, listening. In the silence he could hear quiet, laboured breathing.

Someone else was in the kitchen.

Slowly, cautiously, unsure of who it would be, he peeked around the doorway. At first, he saw nobody; the table was empty, the chairs were vacant, and there was nobody stood in the darkness around the perimeter of the room. Then his gaze drifted and saw a foot, sticking out past the table. Trembling, he took a step into the room, and then, when nothing happened, he took another. Something in his mind whispered that this was a trap, that Bill was waiting for him, waiting for him to come close enough to grab-

And then his gaze landed on the scene and his breath caught and his eyes flew wide and he uttered a small, strangled, terrified sound. Lying on the floor beside the table was Ford, eyes closed, skin pale, breathing irregular. One of his arms was splayed out on the floor, the other lying limply across his body, his hand resting on a dark spot on his abdomen.

It took Dipper a moment to realise that Ford’s hand was covered in blood, that the dark spot was blood, that he was  _ bleeding _ . He was shaking all over, his brain too slow and yet too fast, and before he knew it, he was on the floor, kneeling at Ford’s side, his hand pulling Ford’s out of the way to look at the wound. In the darkness, he couldn’t see much, just a slightly different shade of black, and  _ something _ stuck in his guardian’s side. 

“Dipper…” Ford whispered, his voice so quiet Dipper wondered for a moment if he’d imagined it. But Ford’s eyes were open, if cloudy, and they were pretty much focused on him.

“Ford,” Dipper breathed, voice shaking. He swallowed as tears welled in his eyes. “Ford, what can I do-?”   
“Go back to bed, Dipper,” Ford whispered. “Don’t… Don’t worry about me.”

Dipper shook his head. “I can’t, I can’t-”   
“Dipper!” Ford’s voice cracked and he groaned in pain. “Please… In the morning, call Fiddleford, get him to take you back with him, just go now, please…” He forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. “You’re too young… I don’t want you to see that…”

“But Ford,” Dipper sobbed, not finishing as he stared at his guardian through tear-filled eyes. Ford reached up his bloody hand and placed it on Dipper’s cheek. Dipper reached up too, and placed his hand over Ford’s. 

“I love you,” Ford whispered, and Dipper sobbed, but forced a shaky smile.

“L-Love you too,” he stammered. Ford’s hand slipped, and Dipper winced as it hit Ford’s stomach as it fell. Ford’s head dropped back, his consciousness gone. Dipper sat for a few moments more, watching the unsteady rise-and-fall of his chest, before getting to his feet and stumbling out into the hall. 

Instead of going back to bed like Ford had told him too, he made a beeline for the phone, and picked it up with shaking hands, typing in the number as quickly as he could. He held it to his ear, breathing heavily, hoping to any deity that would listen that he would pick up.

After the fifth ring, his prayers were answered. “Hello?” asked an annoyed-sounding voice.

“Fiddleford?”   
“Dipper.” Fiddleford’s voice was a mixture of frustration and fondness. “Not that I don’t love to hear from ya, kid, but it’s 3A.M.-” He broke off suddenly as Dipper inadvertently let out a sob. “Dipper? Dipper, what’s wrong?”

“It-It’s Ford,” Dipper sobbed. “I- I don’t know what to do, please Fiddleford, there’s so much  _ blood- _ ”

“I’ll be right there,” Fiddleford interrupted. “Give me, darnit, fifteen minutes, I swear I’ll be there.” 

Dipper nodded, then, remembering Fiddleford couldn’t see him, whispered, “Thank you.” He stood there, shaking and sobbing, with the dial tone ringing in his ear for what seemed an endless while before dropping the handset to hang off the hook, sinking down to the floor. He sat there against the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest, for what felt like forever, before he forced himself to move. 

He reentered the kitchen and sat back down beside Ford. He’d heard somewhere- right now, he couldn’t remember where- that putting pressure on wounds would prevent blood loss, and so he took the edge of Ford’s shirt and placed it on the wound, pushing down on it.

He glanced over at Ford’s face, the grimace he wore, the clamminess of his skin, the fluttering of his eyelids, and a coldness overtook him. He shivered, and huddled closer to him, though Ford was arguably colder than he was. This old house, which sometimes felt rather small, now felt too big, and he too small for it; but it was better than the whole world, which felt daunting to think about. It was almost as if he were trapped in a bubble, down here on the kitchen floor with Ford, and everything else was too much to think about.

So he didn’t, putting pressure on the now red-soaked fabric and staring at Ford.  _ Please don’t die,  _ he thought. Out loud, he whispered, “Please.”

The words echoed through the silent room, too loud, too loud. He swallowed and forced himself to finish.

“Please don’t leave me.”

* * *

When Fiddleford had arrived at the house, he’d found Dipper huddled on the kitchen floor beside Ford’s unconscious body, coated in blood and tears and sweat and snot. His first priority had been getting Ford stable, and after that, to the sofa; then he’d had to sort the kid out, clean up, and send him to bed with a mug of warm milk.

He’d been back up several hours with the morning sun and the unmistakable terror of a nightmare, and had refused to leave Ford’s side from then on. Eventually, Ford had woken up, and had been surprised to find Fiddleford there; he’d apologised and thanked him, before Dipper had woken from dozing off and enveloped him in a hug.

And now, two weeks after the incident, he was leaving again. Ford was in remission and could look after himself, and Dipper, though shaken, would be alright. They didn’t need him anymore.

Some treacherous thought whispered,  _ But they do,  _ and he squashed it down immediately. He’d decided years ago he’d have no more to do with that demonic triangle, and if that made him a bad person, so be it. He couldn’t deal with that any more- and he told himself that they  _ wanted _ to, that they could walk out at any time too, and he wasn’t abandoning them.

Maybe if he told himself that enough, he’d believe it.

Either way, he wasn’t risking his sanity for them again.

He said goodbye to Dipper and then made his way outside with Stanford. As he reached his car and placed his suitcase in the backseat, he hesitated, before turning around and calling to his old friend, “Stanford?”   
“Yes?” Ford asked, voice hoarse.

“Can I ask you somethin’?” Ford paused, then nodded. 

“Go ahead.”   
“What happened to make ‘im so angry?” Fiddleford asked. Ford blinked in surprise. “I mean, he ain’t the type to murder someone who’s useful to him.” There was a bitter twist on the words that he couldn’t quite repress. Ford sighed, and didn’t meet his eyes as he replied.

“He isn’t. It wasn’t him, it was me.”   
It was as if Fiddleford had been plunged into cold water. “Pardon me?”

“Fiddleford-”   
“No. No, Stanford Pines, you look me in the goddamn eyes and you explain yourself. Fer Christ’s sake, Stanford!”

Ford wrenched his eyes up and met Fiddleford’s, his gaze raw and hurt. “I’m done,” he said quietly. “I’m done working against someone who controls every part of my life. I’m done letting him hurt and push away everyone in my life. I’m done watching him hurt Dipper.  _ Damnit _ , Fidds, I’m done being- being tortured! He’ll only kill me when it’s done, anyway. At least this way, he won’t ever get the chance to finish the portal-”   
“And you thought the best way to deal with this was to  _ stab _ yourself?! Jesus Christ, Stanford!”

“He took control at the last minute, yanked my hands out of the way to make the damage non-fatal. Really, I should have done something less obvious, but I wasn’t exactly in my right mind at the time.”

“And what about Dipper?”   
“He doesn’t deserve to keep being hurt because of me and my mistakes. The only reason he stays here is because of me! If I’m gone, he can leave, go home with you and just- forget about it. If I’m gone, he doesn’t get hurt anymore.”

“So that’s it? You’re just going to run away from your problems? Abandon him?”

Stanford gave a bitter laugh. “What, like you didn’t?”

Fiddleford glared. “That’s different.”   
“Is it? You abandoned us, Fidds.”

“He was abusin’ me! I was goin’ out of my mind!” 

“And you don’t think it’s the same for us? We can’t all just run away from this, Fiddleford!”   
“I’m just sayin’, suicide ain’t the answer, Stanford.”   
“Then what is? I’m already going to hell. This is the only way to end this once and for all.”

Fiddleford glared. “It ain’t, but I can see  _ you’re _ not going to see sense. But you can’t do this again, Ford. If not fer me or fer you, then for Dipper. You saw how distraught he was- you can’t let him go through this again. Fer some reason that kid really loves ya.”

“Yeah,” Ford sighed. “I don’t understand why.”   
“Yeah, well, neither do I.” Without another word, he climbed into his car and drove away, focusing on the road ahead and never once glancing back. He reached out and turned the radio up loud, as if the sound of country music could somehow drown out the thoughts in his brain.

* * *

Dipper couldn’t sleep.

Ford was better, now, almost completely so, but ever since the accident, he hadn’t been able to rest for worry. At first, it was worry that Ford would take a turn for the worse and be gone by the time he woke; and then that morphed into the fear that he’d wake up to find his corpse lying on the floor, lost sometime during the night. When he did sleep, it was restless, fragmented by nightmares that he could never quite remember when he woke. He spent many nights awake, and many days exhausted, falling asleep every couple of days, unable to stay awake no matter how much it terrified him to sleep.

Ford was too distracted to notice, until one day, when he dropped in the middle of a sentence.

When he woke up, he was on the floor, and Ford was leaning over him, worriedly calling his name. “Dipper? Dipper!”   
“‘M fine,” Dipper mumbled. “‘M awake.”   
“Oh, thank heavens! What happened?” Dipper blinked several times, sitting up slowly.

“I don’t- I’m tired, I think.” 

“Tired?” Ford echoed in confusion. “How have you been sleeping?”   
“I haven’t.”   
“You haven’t?”   
Dipper shook his head. Ford frowned.

“Why… not? Dipper? What’s wrong?” Dipper glanced down, not meeting his eyes.

“I can’t sleep. I’m… I’m scared.”   
“Scared… of what?” Ford’s voice was soft now, gentle. Dipper sighed.

“I’m afraid that if I fall asleep, I’ll wake up and you’ll be… you’ll be…” Ford sighed.

“Oh, Dipper,” he whispered, and pulled him into a hug. “I’m so sorry, Dipper…”   
“‘S’not your fault,” Dipper mumbled into his chest. “It was Bill.”   
Ford paused, but then nodded. “Yes, but, still. I’m sorry. I swear, it won’t happen again.”   
Dipper frowned. “You can’t really promise that,” he said, pulling back out of the hug. “Things happen.”   
“Yeah,” Ford said, not meeting his eyes. “They do. But just let me apologise, let me promise. I’m sorry, and it won’t happen again.”   
“Okay,” Dipper whispered. He found himself yawning. Ford laughed. 

“Do you want to try sleeping?” he asked gently. Dipper hesitated.

“I’m still scared,” he admitted in a quiet voice. Ford smiled.

“That’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay to be scared. Why don’t I go to sleep with you?” Dipper frowned.

“You won’t leave when I fall asleep?”

“I promise. I’ll be there, all the time.”   
“O-Okay then,” Dipper agreed, nodding. 

Together the two of them relocated to the sofa and, before Dipper knew it, he’d fallen asleep; and when he woke, several hours later, roused by yet another nightmare, Ford’s arms were still wrapped around him, holding him safe and sound.

By the time he woke up again, it was the best sleep he’d had in a long, long time.

* * *

And if in the days and months and years that followed Dipper needed to be beside Ford to have a proper night’s sleep, well, neither of them minded.


End file.
